As some of you may know, in every issue of Corporate Writer and Editor, I hand out my C.R.A.P. Awards . . . which stand for Corporate Rhetoric Awards Program.

I usually don’t like to republish my columns out here, but since it’s annual report season, this one seemed to be appropriate, so here it is:

News flash: CEO C.R.A.P.s once a year
The “Chairman’s Letter” in TimeWarner’s annual report
is a non-stop, relentless stream of corporate C.R.A.P.

Most of the awards we hand out here at C.R.A.P. (Corporate Rhetoric Awards Program) Central are given to employee editors.

And that’s not really fair, is it? Why single them out? We see plenty of C.R.A.P. in other kinds of corporate writing, too—including memos, press releases, brochures . . . and in what may be the ultimate outhouse of corporate C.R.A.P.: the annual report.

This month, we’re giving our C.R.A.P. award to the Chairman of TimeWarner, Richard D. “Dick” Parsons. That’s right, the Chairman of one of the largest companies in the world is getting a C.R.A.P. Award. This goes to show that nobody is too big to be C.R.A.P.ped on.

Dick Parsons starts his “Chairman’s Letter” in the 2006 annual report with one of the oldest, stinkiest pieces of corporate C.R.A.P.:

“Today, in business as in life, the only constant is change.”

Whoo boy! That is like the stream of gas that sometimes precedes a particularly vicious C.R.A.P. session! Old Dickie boy is hitting on all cylinders right from the get-go! Not only does he drag out the oldest cliché in the communication business, but he even adds the “in business as in life” chestnut.

I always have fun trying to imagine the conversations between the executive and the writer when I see tired old leads like this one:

Dick Parsons: “Johnnie, how should we lead the Chairman’s Letter this year?”

Johnnie the Ghost-Writer: “I think you should express some shock and surprise that another year has gone by. You know, “It’s hard to believe, but 2005 is already in the books,” or something like that.”

Dick: “Can’t do it, Johnnie. We did that last year, remember? And the year before that. What else you got?”

Johnnie: (Flipping through his notebook). “What about a nautical reference? We haven’t used one since 2002. Something like, “As we guide the ship that is TimeWarner through the rough seas of the modern business environment, we need to have all hands on deck if we are going to succeed.”

Dick: “I like it, Johnnie. I like it a hell of a lot. It sings, baby. But let’s do that one in the employee newsletter, when we talk about synergy. I think it’s a better fit there. What other themes can we play off? What’s going on out there in the trenches?”

Johnnie: “Well, truth be told, sir, we keep switching corporate strategies the way a hooker changes customers. We tell them one thing one month, and then switch it around and tell them something different the next month. Most people have no idea what the hell is going on in this organization.”

Dick: “Okay, then! We play the Change Card. Act like it’s not our fault. Blame it on change. Constant change. Change as the only constant. And tie it back to the fact that most of their personal lives are as screwed up as this company, so they can relate.”

Johnnie: “Genius, sir. How about, “Today, in business as in life, the only constant is change.”

Dick: “Now you’re wordsmithing, Johnnie Boy! Make sure we send a release to the Wall Street Journal with that line in there. They may want to pick up on the whole 'change is constant' theme and do a trend story.”

But Dick doesn’t stop pooping clichés after his lead. In fact, the entire “Letter” is a non-stop, horrifying stream of C.R.A.P. clichés, one after another. Below, I list just a few of the ones he used. And, since I believe that any time you have to resort to a cliché, it usually means you’re trying to hide something, I’ve included my own comments, in italics, uncovering what Dick is really saying: According to Dickie:

TimeWarner is “uniquely positioned to benefit from the changes before us.” "Yeah, you know what that unique position is? We got cash. We’re gonna buy every company we can and crush the ones we can’t swallow up. Unique positioning, my big ass. We got cash, and that’s what counts."

TimeWarner has “the size and resources to compete effectively in a global environment.”
“We’ve got some cool stuff, and I’m reasonably sure we can kick the cheese out of the French and Italians, but I’m going to be real honest with you. I’m scared to death of the Japs. Jesus, those guys are smart, and they work, like what, 120 hours a week? And God help us if China ever gets its shit together.”

TimeWarner has “a workforce drawn from all walks of life.”
"Yeah, see, I hired this broad to be the director of diversity or some bullshit title like that, so we got all kinds of people working here now. We got Mexicans and Vietnamese and lesbians and cross dressers and everything. And believe me when I tell you this: you don’t want to go down into shipping. It’s like a God damned third world country down there."

TimeWarner has a “portfolio of strategically aligned businesses.”
"I can’t stand half the vice presidents I’ve got running these businesses, and every single one of those sons of bitches wants my job. You’re damned right our businesses are silos . . . I’ve ‘strategically aligned’ them so that those pirates can’t get together and start plotting against me."

I could go on . . . but it's too painful. One can only take so much C.R.A.P.

Annual report writers and corporate editors, remember this: When you write empty words and phrases, you’re begging people to cut through the C.R.A.P. and read between the lines. And do you really want them to do that?